Атлант расправил плечи

           Shehaddrivenfardownthewindingroad,andthelightsofthedinerwerelongsinceoutofsight,whenshenoticedthatshewasenjoyingthetasteofthecigarettehehadgivenher:itwasdifferentfromanyshehadeversmokedbefore.Sheheldthesmallremnanttothelightofthedashboard,lookingforthenameofthebrand.Therewasnoname,onlyatrademark.Stampedingoldonthethin,whitepapertherestoodthesignofthedollar.

           Sheexamineditcuriously:shehadneverheardofthatbrandbefore.

           ThensherememberedtheoldmanatthecigarstandoftheTaggartTerminal,andsmiled,thinkingthatthiswasaspecimenforhiscollection.Shestampedoutthefireanddroppedthebuttintoherhandbag.

           TrainNumber57waslinedalongthetrack,readytoleaveforWyattJunction,whenshereachedCheyenne,lefthercaratthegaragewhereshehadrentedit,andwalkedoutontheplatformoftheTaggartstation.ShehadhalfanhourtowaitfortheeastboundmainlinertoNewYork.Shewalkedtotheendoftheplatformandleanedwearilyagainstalamppost;shedidnotwanttobeseenandrecognizedbythestationemployees,shedidnotwanttotalktoanyone,sheneededrest.Afewpeoplestoodinclustersonthehalf-desertedplatform;animatedconversationsseemedtobegoingon,andnewspapersweremoreprominentlyinevidencethanusual.

           ShelookedatthelightedwindowsofTrainNumber57—foramoment’sreliefinthesightofavictoriousachievement.